


Frozen Girl vs. Hot Chocolate Man

by EmmyAngua



Category: Cabin Pressure, Frozen (2013)
Genre: Arthur-centric, F/M, Fear of Flying, Gen, Romance, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyAngua/pseuds/EmmyAngua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theresa wants her childhood pen-friend Queen Elsa to come to her wedding. Elsa is terrified of flying since the death of her parents in a crash. Thankfully Theresa knows just the airdot to send… Elsa/Arthur (Modern Frozen AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Girl vs. Hot Chocolate Man

**Author's Note:**

> It all started when I realised Arthur/Elsa would be the most adorable ship of all time. It then turned into a twitter conversation and Trillsabells got in on the fic writing act as well. We’re hoping it becomes a thing. 
> 
> Thanks to Trillsabells for the beta!

 

“It’s not too late, you know.”

 

Theresa’s voice is honeyed, surprisingly warm for a woman currently trapped inside a wedding dress that weighs almost as much as she does. It’s her fifth ‘ _one_ _last fitting, we swear’_ of the week.

 

There is a sigh from the other end of the phone.

 

“I _can’t_...”

 

“It’s a three hour flight, Elsa. All I want is for the never-seen-in-public Queen of Arendelle (who has also – incidentally - been my penfriend since I was six) to make an appearance at my wedding. Surely that’s not too demanding? And even if it is, I’m a Princess engaged to be married: this is the most demanding I’ll ever be allowed to be.”

 

“You know I can’t go on a plane. Arendelle Royalty was forbidden from flying after the accident…”

 

“Yes, and I recall you were the one who made that rule. So unmake it. Or add a ‘unless a dear friend is getting married’ qualifier.”

 

“It’s not just that. You know my problem…”

 

Theresa looks carefully at the seamstresses hovering around and chooses her words with care. Elsa’s condition is a secret every royal knows, but one no one would ever dream of sharing with an outsider.

 

“I thought that, uh, situation had been resolved? After the… freak storms last year.”

 

“Things are better. I have more control. But… well… when I get _nervous_...”

 

Theresa sighs. “And you don’t want a sudden attack of _nerves_ at thirty-five thousand feet. I see your problem.”

 

“What if I froze the engine? Or caused a storm? So I can’t-”

 

An idea forms.

 

“Let’s not be so defeatist. You said you’re much better now; you just need to stay calm. So I will arrange a completely stress free flight: three people on board only, your hostess will be more anti-social than you, and the pilot would probably enjoy a snowstorm to keep the boredom at bay. It will be _fine_.”

 

 

 

\---

 

_It will be fine…_

 

What was she _thinking?_ Everything is most certainly not fine. The plane has been in the air for ten minutes and Elsa has only just recovered from the take-off. She has managed to open her eyes again and she’s _considering_ working towards loosening her grip on the arm rests.

 

The crew were Theresa’s personal friends and entirely to be trusted. Even so, the pilots stayed locked in the flight desk while she’d boarded, and Theresa promised that she’d only have to talk to the steward.

 

“And Carolyn will be more than happy if you keep your conversation to ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Theresa had reassured Elsa.

 

The steward makes his first appearance twenty minutes into the flight. He doesn’t look much like a Carolyn, Elsa thinks. He looks _terrified._

 

“Ice?”

 

Elsa practically leaps from her seat, though she doesn’t get very far as she is still strapped into it.

 

“Where?!”

 

The steward’s friendly smile slides away and he twirls the silver tray he’s holding awkwardly, as if considering using it as a shield.

 

“In your drink? That is- I mean to say that I myself am dedicated to ensuring your refreshment is in the exact state of iciness or non-iciness Your Majesty desires it to be so.”

 

Elsa clenches her hand in her gloves.

 

“No. No drink.”

 

The man looks unsettled. “Are you sure? It _is_ free.”

 

“Very sure.”

 

“And it’s not the cheap stuff we give to the yacht owners. Douglas would be trying to steal it if he weren’t so out of sorts.” The man catches himself. “That is, I mean, Your Majesty, your complimentary refreshments are of the very finest quality that Your Majesty could-“

 

Elsa holds up a hand to stop him. She can’t bear to see someone looking so afraid of her, she’s too used to it. “You don’t need to talk like that.”

 

The man sags in relief. “Oh thank goodness. It’s terribly confusing. Because I’ve been around Theresa loads and I’m allowed to talk to her like a normal person, but you’re an actual _queen_ and mum said to behave myself. She’d be here herself, but she’s terribly anti-royalist and that means she needs a nice hat for the wedding.”

 

Elsa blinks. “I don’t understand. Hat?”

 

“Yes. She said she doesn’t mind Theresa, but she’s dam- _darned_ if she’ll have Kate Middleton smirking at her.”

 

He twirls the tray again awkwardly. It’s possible he’s not entirely sure whether he’s allowed to leave.

 

For the first time Elsa properly looks at him.

 

It’s fair to say that she’s not been around many men in her life, but she thinks this one seems nice. He looks like the sort of man who knows party games and spends every weekend teaching his children to ride bikes. He probably plays the piano with his wife in front of a crackling fire and… and… _cuddles_. He is the sort of person who lives the kind of life Elsa has always imagined but never been part of.

 

“You can take your seatbelt off,” he offers.

 

She clings to it defensively. “No. No. I’ll keep it on.”

 

“Are you not much of a flyer?” he asks kindly. “Don’t worry. Loads of people hate it. But as I always tell them, I fly almost every day and in all that time we’ve only nearly crashed once.”

 

Elsa clamps her eyes shut again and grips the armrests even harder. _Keep calm. Focus on something else. Anything else._

 

“It’s not the best advice,” the warm voice continues, “but I can’t lie. I mean you’d be even more nervous if I lied. Anyway, Douglas is flying and he’s the best pilot we’ve ever had. Not that the other pilots weren’t brilliant. But Douglas is the best _really_.”

 

Elsa cracks one eye open to look at Arthur’s pink, blushing face.

 

“Isn’t he the one trying to steal champagne?”

 

“Oh yes. But not to drink.”

 

“Why then?”

 

Arthur shrugs. “Because he can. He’s terribly clever like that. If Sherlock Holmes had been up against Douglas things would have gone very differently, let me tell you. If you ever have a problem with your queening, Douglas will be the man to call in.”

 

She imagines, for a moment, telling this nice man all of her problems and letting the mysterious Douglas solve it for her. It’s an amusing thought.

 

“Can he tell me what to do if I’m nervous and afraid I’m going to destroy everything tomorrow?”

 

She’s half joking, an eyebrow raised.

 

Arthur shrugs.

 

“I’ll give it a go. Although he’s a bit out of sorts today. He’s Martin’s best man and he has to do a speech, only he’s panicking but also trying to pretend everything is fine. We’re trying to distract him with a game. Or at least _I_ am, Herc is teasing him.”

 

_Party games_ , just as she’d imagined.

 

“What game?”

 

“Superhero/Villain Combos. It’s easy. You start with a supervillain-” he intones the next name in a doom-laden voice “-like THE MASTER OF LOSING YOUR KEYS and then you have to think of a superhero who’ll beat him. Like IGNORED CHRISTMAS PRESENT MAN who has millions of those novelty key holders no one ever bothers to hang up as his disposal.”

 

Elsa can’t help an ironic laugh. “What about FROZEN GIRL, who turns everything she touches to ice?”

 

Arthur lights up. “Oh brilliant! Passengers never normally join in. Anyway, that’s an easy one!”

 

“It is?”

 

“Yep. FROZEN GIRL vs. HOT CHOCOLATE MAN. Ice is never frightening when you’re holding a lovely hot chocolate in your hands, is it? Well, unless you get stuck to things - like I do - then alcohol probably works better at unsticking you… can I change my answer?”

 

It’s only in the awkward pause after he’s finished that Elsa notices that, during his answer, she has let go of the armrests and lent forward, eyes wide with surprised interested. Her mouth has – all by itself – settled into a sort of- of _fond smile_.

 

“I like your first answer better _. Hot Chocolate Man…”_

 

“Oh!” Arthur brightens. “I can make hot chocolate! It won’t be the really good sort with squirty cream but I have some Maltesers left over-”

 

“Yes,” she says in wonderment. “Yes I’d like that. Wait! What’s your name?”

 

This simple question seems to flummox him.

 

“ _My name is Arthur and I will be your_ … I mean I _am_ your… I mean I am _Your Majesty’s_ … Arthur. Today. Steward.”

 

He turns and flees. As soon as he’s out of sight Elsa hears a groan and the unmistakable twang of the silver tray connecting to a forehead.

 

\--

 

 

“You’ve done Best Man speeches before,” Herc reassures him. “I’ve seen you do at least three myself. People were rolling in the aisles. Is this one really any different? Aside from the fact you’ll be doing it in front of European royalty who probably won’t appreciate your amusing store of Bangkok jokes.”

 

Douglas grits his teeth and doesn’t give his co-pilot the satisfaction of a reaction.

 

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. It will be fine.”

 

And it will. Probably. He hasn’t got a speech written yet, but he’s been Best Man eleven times and has done every single one on the fly (which is, let’s face it, his natural state) while in various stages of sobriety. He’s only worried because this time he’s actually tried to write one. Because this time it’s not some arsehole mate of his from Air England, it’s _Martin_.

 

He doesn’t voice this, because he knows that Herc would be unbearable about it. And then he’d tell Carolyn, who’d be even more so.

 

“Of course it will be fine,” Herc says. “Although, if you refer to _this_ bride as a – what was it? – ‘ _over the hill Nigella Lawson wannabe_ ’ you might be arrested for treason.”

 

“I’ll have the British consulate standing by,” Douglas snarks.

 

“Anyway, are we playing or not?” Herc continues. Douglas doesn’t miss the wicked glance thrown his way. “Who would defeat the PUBLIC SPEAKING VOICE STEALER?” He does the doom laden voice, complete with evil laugh at the end.

 

Douglas snaps. “How about MR. WHY-DON’T-YOU-STICK-IT-UP-YOUR – oh hello Arthur.”

 

“Hi chaps…”

 

Douglas takes in Arthur’s demeanour and looks to Herc “We are being treated to a doom-laden Arthur today. Is life really so bad?”

 

“Never mind that,” Herc interrupts. “What’s she like? I can’t believe we weren’t even allowed to meet her. Is she hideously deformed?”

 

Douglas has been wanting to know that too, but enjoys waving an idle hand as if these affairs are no concern to him at all.

“Oh no!” Arthur stammers. “She’s very nice. And pretty. Very pretty. If she was on the scale from _‘that lady on the yogurt advert’_ to _‘Rose from Doctor Who’_ she’d be at least a nine.”

 

“Ah yes, the well-known Arthur Attractiveness Scale,” Herc murmurs.

 

“And yet,” Douglas intones, “the man who can find a silver lining in a nasty letter from the tax office is somehow miserable at the prospect of being locked in an aeroplane with the beautiful and mysterious Queen of Arendelle. What’s the matter? Has she opened your eyes to the oppression of the proletariat?”

 

“Oh no!” Arthur is quick to protest. “I don’t think she’s that sort. I don’t think she’s even got a polecat. She really is very nice.”

 

“I’m sure she is. Pretty too...” Douglas prods.

 

“Very pretty.” Arthur repeats, apparently fearing he has not been clear enough on this point. “At least a nine. A high nine. Possibly a ten. She had the window covered, so in natural light she’d probably be an eleven. And an eleven _isn’t even on the scale_.”

 

“Well, be careful,” Herc shares a grin with Douglas, briefly united in their teasing of Arthur, “I mean, Carolyn’s embarrassed enough about going to a royal wedding as it is. Imagine her reaction to being the mother-in-law of the Queen of Arendelle. Good god, she’d be terrifying.”

 

“Oh no! I’m not! She wouldn’t! I’m-“

 

“Arthur, sorry to interrupt your general state of flustered-ness, but were you paying us a visit for any reason beyond Queen Elsa’s charms? Or are those coffees you’re holding the mere hallucination of a thirsty pilot?” Douglas asks.

 

Arthur hands them over. “Oh yes. Sorry. And they’re not coffee. They’re hot chocolate. I was just… thinking about hot chocolate.”

 

“That’s fine,” Douglas sighs.

 

Arthur, once divested of hot chocolate, remains where he is.

 

“Is there anything else?”

 

“Weeelll… you know how you’re good at solving problems?” Arthur asks.

 

Douglas inclines his head. “I _have_ noticed that about myself.”

 

“Well. Imagine you had to do something frightening, and you were really, really scared you were going to mess up and ruin everything. What would you do?”

 

“Oh Arthur,” Herc says in a syrupy voice. “Could you be trying to help Douglas with his little speech problem? The old ‘physician, heal thyself’ trick?”

 

For the first time in several unsettling days of worry, Douglas feels his old self returning.

 

“Do you know what I’d suggest Arthur?”

 

“What?”

 

“I suggest that in that situation you rely on your innate brilliance. By which I mean _my_ innate brilliance.”

 

 

\---

 

 

The dinner is over, the music is playing, and there is general mingling going on. Martin and Theresa aren’t even visible among the throng of people trying to speak to them, so Douglas has escaped into the hall of the too-enormous-to-be-believed castle this wedding is happening in.

 

Arthur, inescapable, is soon as his side. They stand in the castle entrance, admiring the fifteen foot fountain some ancient house of Liechtenstein chose for themselves, back when water spewing from the mouth of a golden cherub was the last word in style.

 

“It was ever such a good speech Douglas,” Arthur says.

 

“It _was_ , wasn’t it?” Douglas’s expression radiates smug satisfaction. In the mood he’s in he thinks he might be able to talk some drunk head of state into making him a duke before the night is out. He’s certainly going to give it a go.

 

“I actually think Martin cried,” Arthur adds.

 

“What gave it away?”

 

“Well he went all red and started sobbing into Theresa’s shoulder.”

 

“Yes, I noticed.” The satisfaction increases.

 

And, because he’s feeling generous, he points to the corner of the room where a wisp of white hair peeks out from behind a suit of armour that is the medieval equivalent of Martin’s Captain Hat.

 

“Dear me, Arthur, is that the Queen of Arendelle hiding behind that suit of armour? Did you know it’s actually treason to not ask a Queen to dance if she’s without a partner?”

 

Arthur gapes. “Is it?”

 

“Oh yes. I’d go over there and ask if I were you.”

 

“But I don’t know any of that posh dancing they’re doing! I was going to wait until the disco started…”

 

The vision of the assembled guests getting on down to the Macerena warms every stubbornly chilly cockle Douglas has left in him.

 

“Do you know, Arthur, I don’t think that will be a problem. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m off to start a game of ‘how many noble titles can one man earn in an evening.’ The current leader being Martin, who has today gained one wife and a title so long you need to have a sit down half way through.”

 

 

\---

 

 

There is no way for Elsa to escape Arthur’s approach. She turns and presses herself against the wall in the hope of staying hidden, but it’s too late. He’s spotted her.

 

It’s not that she’s hiding from him, as such. She’d hiding from all the staring and the whispers, and from the way that the royals present – who know her secret – shrink away from her in terror. They make her nervous.

 

Arthur makes her nervous in a whole different, indescribable way.  

 

“Chilly over here, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh no! Is it?”

 

It’s then that she notices the layer of frost spreading across the shiny surface of the armour where her hand is touching it. She snatches it away before Arthur can notice and curses the thin lace gloves she’s wearing.

 

“Only a bit. Anyway, you know what warms you up?”

 

She twists her hands together.

 

“Hot chocolate?”

 

“Well yes. But it’s May and they aren’t serving any. I checked.”

 

He blushes for some reason.

 

“Anyway… dancing is quite… warming… I’ve heard.”

 

A liquid shot of icy dread and white hot surprise flashes though her. “Dancing? I don’t-“

 

“Thank goodness!” Arthur sags. “I don’t know any of that dancing they’re doing anyway; I get confused enough during the Time Warp. I just didn’t want to be arrested for treason.”

 

“Well perhaps you can dance that with, um, Mrs. Arthur later on.”

 

Arthur gapes, as though he’s never heard anything more shocking.

_“Mrs. Arthur?”_

 

“I… I thought you might be married. You seem like a very... loving person.”

 

“Oh.”

 

That seems like all Arthur is able to contribute to the conversation. He leans against the suit of armour, jumps back in alarm as it wobbles, and then has a second attempt at talking.

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Oh.” This time it’s her who has run out of words.

 

They are silent for a moment, and then Arthur brightens up.

 

“I would also like to say that I, that is, myself, took the liberty of presenting your problem to our Captain…”

 

“Sorry? What?”

 

“I asked Douglas about the problem, like you said to.”

 

“My problem?”

 

“Yes. You know, you being nervous and imagining everything going wrong?”

 

Elsa blinks. “And?”

 

“He said to trust in his innate brilliance. I think he meant your innate brilliance. Because you are. _Brilliant_.”

 

He says this with a meaningful look, as if it’s the greatest complement that he can bestow on her. And in that moment it _is_. Elsa finds herself blushing.

 

Unfortunately her body isn’t sure how to respond to blushing, so it does what it does best. It freezes the water in the fountain behind Arthur.

 

Elsa stares in horror at it and, too late, Arthur follows her line of sight. He turns and gapes at the frozen fountain.

 

“Wow!” he says in an awestruck tone. “That’s amazing. You know, for _May_.”

 

It seems that embarrassment isn’t enough. Her body decides to try and help the situation. Within seconds the sky is white…

 

“And it’s started to snow!” Arthur shouts, completely oblivious to the source of this chaos trembling next to him. “I love snow!”

 

Flakes of it settle in his hair and he sticks out his tongue like a little boy to catch them. As he does, he looks _up_.

 

“It’s, um, snowing inside…?” he says faintly.

 

“Yes,” she says faintly.

 

He’s going to freak out. He’s going to run away, shout for everyone dancing in the ballroom to come and see…

 

“That’s not a thing that happens normally, is it?” he says mildly, as if he might have missed that phenomenon somehow.

 

“Not… normally…”

 

“Oh.”

 

He leans back on the suit of armour. The helmet wobbles and falls off. Elsa reaches out on instinct…

 

Perhaps she might have explained the fountain, or the snow, but there’s no way one can explain a bolt of ice firing out of her hand and freezing the helmet in place.

“WOW!” says Arthur, looking between her and the strange new helmet icicle.

 

This appears to be all Arthur is able to say on the subject. He looks around at the snow and the fountain again, and then grins.

 

“WOW! I mean… WOW. I’ve always secretly thought magic might be real, but I didn’t want to say anything in case it was one of those things Mum got exasperated about.”

 

Something… warm… is spreading through Elsa. “You’re not scared?”

 

“Why would I be scared?” he all but whoops. “It’s snowing inside! You can control snow! I take it all back, what I said about apples and baths and things. This really is the happiest you can be. It’s snowing inside and I’m with the person I really really fancy and I’m not even scared it’s going to end soon! All it needs is a snowman!”

 

Elsa unthinkingly holds up her hand and a snowman pops into existence in the middle of the entrance hall.

 

There is a shriek as the first guest leaves the ballroom and discovers the unexpected winter wonderland. On instinct Elsa gasps and reaches out for Arthur’s hand.

 

_He said he fancied her…_

 

They shrink back behind the coat of arms together, still holding hands, as the voices from the ballroom grow more excited.

 

Her body still has one final treachery in store for her though. They share a secret smile, look down in embarrassment and their hands, and then try to pull them apart.

 

Except that her body has decided that it doesn’t want Arthur to let go.

 

“I’m… I’m stuck to you!” he gasps.

 

Elsa bites her lip, thinking. “If we’re quick we can sneak away. I heard alcohol was really good unsticking things. Didn’t you say there was a bottle of champagne on the plane?”

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> You know that moment where you’re not sure if you’re a comedic genius or whether you’ve unintentionally nicked a line from someone actually talented? Well, Douglas’s ‘title you need a sit down half way through’ line is that. I did google it (no results) but it feels a bit too Pratchett-like. On the other hand, I spent my teenage years reading Pratchett so I might just have absorbed comedic genius… Apologies if the source of the line is indeed not mine.


End file.
